Mark's Pages

May 28, 2004:

A large house, an old house, a farm house. Interior: dark. Nighttime? Older furniture, elaborately decorated, with covers. People you don't know.

Outside in the dark there are figures moving. You see the points of their white-colored hoods gliding past the windows. Men's voices, women's voices. They're searching for you, and for the people you've hidden inside the house.

Quiet, quiet, stay down low.

Suddenly: farce. The way these things do. Someone stands and speaks, a large man, cropped hair, wide features, strong like a boxer, darkish skin. Someone else tells him to shut up, then, Three Stooges, punches him in the nose. Down he goes. Thunk! The noise reverberates. His head is visible protruding beneath the curtain. The hooded figures outside are coming in.

You awaken angry, to the thought of your friend, with whom you are quarrelling.